The leader was staring at us, standing proudly even though he was clearly unbalanced by his missing wings. None of them had shoes, and the belts hanging tight around their waists were empty of their swords and bows. The last of the burnable weapons was going on the fire now, and I watched a young fairy snarl and throw an ichor-soaked wad of cotton at the barrier as presumably her weapons went on the blaze.

Jax hovered beside me, his hands on his hips, looking a lot like his father. “You should have let us kill them,” he said, worrying me.

The leader lifted his chin. “You did that when you gave my sword to a pixy brat,” he said, his words having a soft lisp and almost lyrical pacing.

Jax rose up, shouting, “You’re an animal! Destroying everything in a garden when a little care and precision enriches it. We have to fight you or you’d destroy everything! You leave barren lots and weeds! Locusts. That’s what you are. Bugs!”

The fairy looked up, hatred in his black eyes. “I’m not talking to you, maggot.”

Pierce waved his hand to get rid of Jax’s heavy dusting, and the pixy darted up and down, wings clattering. “Are you the leader?” I asked, not surprised when the fairy nodded.

“I’m not above anyone,” he said, “but I made the decision to be here, and others followed. I’m Sidereal.”

“Sidereal,” I echoed. “I’m Rachel,” I said, “but you probably already knew that.”

“The name of a lesser soon fades.” Sidereal corrected his slow tilt forward, a blush of anger coming over him at his own ineptness in maintaining his balance without his wings.

“I wish you hadn’t attacked us,” I muttered.

Sidereal began walking in a careful, slow circle. His balance was better when he was moving. “It was a good gamble. If we won, we would survive until the fall migration. If we failed, we wouldn’t care.” He stopped his pacing, hand against the barrier between us. “Keeping us alive won’t give you a bargaining chip with the coven. We’re tools to be discarded.”

My eyes widened. It had never occurred to me to use them as hostages. “You aren’t tools,” I said, nervously picking at the table. “And you’re not hostages either. I broke the spell because there has to be another way. You’re still alive. When there is life, there are choices.”

Sidereal turned, almost falling as he overcorrected his balance. “We are the walking dead,” he said, huge eyes dark with anger. “Our wings won’t grow back. My people are flightless. We can’t migrate, and we can’t fight. We were going to gain the land we needed or die in glory. Now we have nothing. Less than if we’d kept to our faded land and died as paupers. You’ve given us a very hard death, demon spawn.”